


The Descent

by taranoire



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mild Gore, Rape/Non-con Elements, Squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taranoire/pseuds/taranoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy thought he had killed Lust, but she's come back for him, and she's fueling dark thoughts concerning his youngest subordinate. He can no longer control his impulses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Descent

**Author's Note:**

> *Please heed the warnings on this fic.* Much of the disturbing material takes place in Roy's fantasies, but it's still squick.  
> This was a giftfic written for Goregeous.

The lights had been turned off in the summer heat in order to conserve energy. The windows were open, which stoked hot air but also let in all manner of creatures. Flies would land on paperwork and be smashed against running, heat-smeared ink. His first lieutenant blamed his absent-minded nature on the weather, which he encouraged, if only because the real reason carried more lewd connotations.

A fire burned in the cheap hearth, and he knelt in front of it, humming deep as salt dribbled down his forehead. His button-up shirt was soaked through beneath the uniform, but he relished in the discomfort, stewing in the dark hellfire his pride had become. One snap of the fingers, the rush of adrenaline in his veins, the blood of his underling under his nails, and Lust had shriveled up into charcoal dust. No longer would her sweet words and sweet lips (like dead roses) draw his men into her claws.

Alone. He was alone now. He had sent them away (Jean was alive; a snapped twig, but alive) to cool their heads for another round of mundane military tasks. One hour separated him and his crew, and though he found them each, individually, a necessary piece of his puzzle, this was sin they didn't need to witness. They needed Colonel Mustang, cool, calm, collected, cunning, with golden braids adorning his blues. Not Roy, plastered and dark, simmering and drinking his lust.

He felt her. Her - spirit, maybe, if such things existed, but even if he did believe consciousness survived death (it didn't, it was fed to the Gate) homunculi would not have been allowed entrance into the abyss. They were what one called soulless. They were not born, they were sired by death, more rot than human and containing the desire to spawn chaos' children.

Nonetheless, he felt her, her burned, bloody carcass following him wherever he went. At first he had been horrified to discover that Lust had survived his fire, and then that horror mutated into dread when he realized he was the only person who could actually discern her presence. Hawkeye had thought him mad at his insistence that their debriefing was being interrupted by the ghost of a homunculus, and asked him to seek counseling. He never did.

She was smiling at him, black teeth in a crumbling jaw. He smelled her burnt hair, enunciated by the wood disintegrating in the fire grate. Like her body her hair was dry and brittle and covered in congealed blood. Every time he saw her, the body would be just a little more decomposed, a little more rotted, a little less beautiful than before. It was ironic that her name was Lust and yet her form was a mass of ashen limbs and bloated organs.

He asked her questions when they were alone. She never gave a straight answer.

"What do you want?" he had asked once, after finally conceding to the idea that she would not hurt him and probably was just a figment of psychosis. And in her distinctly fluid voice, unmarred by either flame or rot, she had replied that she was a curious being and simply wanted to watch him fall.

She made him feel things. When he dipped into his liquor cabinet, his dreams were clouded by a toxic mixture of innocence and desire. Before she came, it had been one or the other. Now there was shaking and blistering heat and carnivals of desperation. That was why he was here, on the ground, in the dark, shuddering in his sweat and inhaling the stale smoke while his subordinates remained blissfully unaware of the self-inflicted torment.

Oak rumbled. Metal on wood. Dear God, let him go.

"Fullmetal, I haven't the time for your report at the moment. Come back tomorrow," he rasped, his heart thudding despite his earnest efforts to slow it down with vodka and scotch. The glass beside his knee vibrated as Ed knocked again, the bubbling liquid protesting.

"The hell? When do you ever not have time, you procrastinating son of a bitch?" Ed said through the door.

Lust turned her head, the tendons in her neck creaking like strained leather. Her eyes were a violent purple color, still mesmerizing and terrible even in an incinerated corpse. "You should probably let him in," she said, coy, torturous, knowing. "You are foolish if you think you can defy the innate." The innate.

He was in front of the door, opening it, choking down his words. Edward had always been beautiful. Even as a child he had a certain aesthetic appeal, so that he convinced hard-lined military men to allow him to attempt the State Alchemist Certification. Promising, distinctively pretty features, Roy had overheard them saying; not quite delicate, but malleable. He was a gold coin, a lucky token, young and fair-haired.

"Damn," Ed said, now sixteen and distinctly not malleable but somehow delicate in a curious fashion. He shouldered his canvas bag, eyes squinting either from the smell of booze or the lack of light across the threshold. If he noticed either of those things, he didn't mention them. "The fuck is up with you today? The hell is everyone?"

Ed was not perceptive.

"Holy shit." Ed wrinkled his nose, voice falling to a scandalized whisper. "Are you hammered? At work?"

Or maybe he was. Roy wasted no time, pulling him into the darkness and the smell of burning wood. The teenager did not notice the carcass sitting sprawled against the wall. After removing his red coat and depositing it on a hook, he walked straight by Lust, his movement stirring the flames in the grate. He leaned back against his superior's desk, fingers curled around the edge. Expression calm, cold, even while the heat pressed against his leather clothing and metal limbs.

Roy's mouth dried up as easily as water in Ishbal. Yes, as a child Edward had been pretty, a doll coveted by higher-ups who wanted to taste innocence before it was taken by inevitable bloodshed. Now, he was radiant. He didn't even need to try, could wear gaudy leather and never comb his hair, and yet Ed was beautiful, always looking windswept and curious and content. It should have been a contradiction but it wasn't.

He closed his eyes, but the lids had already been branded with molted iron, fair hair across fiery eyes, lips parted in quiet breath. His heart stuttered, heat shooting through his body straight between his legs, as the convincing (but imagined) sensation of those perfect lips against his skin took over. Ed had such a sweet-looking mouth when it wasn't spewing curses.

"Stop it," he whispered.

Ed looked taken aback, blinking. "Stop what?"

"I'm not doing anything, human," Lust purred, a chuckle escaping the depths of charred throat tunnel. When she laughed he wanted to kill her all over again, but that would only result in Ed fearing for his commander's sanity and his office being destroyed. "Maybe it's all that vodka sloshing around in your brain. Careful. Don't bottle it in or things could get messy."

It was a brief moment. In his head there was a room, much darker than this one, and he was inside the blond and Ed was screaming. Pushing him away. But he just forced him quiet, stifling sound with his hand, thrusting and owning and taking because he could. He could.

Horror and grief trembled through Roy's blood. Two hemispheres battled for dominance, one side telling him how easy it would be - how simple to transmute a drug, a potion, convince Ed to breathe it in and satisfy his desires once the boy succumbed. The other side was not as taken by the idea, but equally curious for the taste of the Fullmetal Alchemist. How he would smell of sex and sweat and degradation.

The blood in his dick stirred at the thought. Pulsed. "The report," he said hoarsely, holding his hand out. He could see the color of the fire in his blond hair, the flicker of pale scarlet, shadows of sulfur. Ed held his gaze, briefly, before dropping his eyes and his hands to his satchel where he began to dig for what would surely be a sloppy and altogether worthless compiling of the events in Aquroya.

"Better not have written it in crayon again," Roy said smugly.

"Prick. You're the one drinking scotchka in the dark like a lunatic."

Roy almost hit him. Almost. It would have been nice to humble the little shit, knock him to the ground and shove fingers in the automail socket until he apologized. But he didn't, because that would have been unwarranted violence against a subordinate, and he knew that Ed was so very delicate. It just wouldn't do for another authority figure (not a parent, but close enough) to push him away. Hohenheim had broken this one.

No. He didn't hit him. He did something much worse.

He walked slow, very slow, making sure that Ed was aware of every movement. Edward had abandoned his search and was staring at his face. The danger had presented itself, subtly, and now Ed was analyzing it. Dissecting it. His days in the military had trained his body to be on alert, even if he was asleep, even if he was in the presence of someone he trusted. Because no matter how much Ed tried to live like an exiled god, he was only human, made of expendable parts.

"Do you have the report, Edward?" Roy murmured, though his tone spoke of something else. He let his hands fall on either side of the boy's body, palms on the desk. Effectively trapping him like a rabbit in wolf teeth. When Ed said nothing, Roy thought it a curiosity. He smirked, and that smirk widened when Fullmetal's eyes searched his in an evaluation of threat. As if he had determined Mustang wasn't in his right mind but hadn't discovered what that meant for him.

Things were getting. Hazy. The stench of burning was in the air and lumber popped and sizzled. The glass cracked, the juxtaposition of hot and cold throwing atoms into disarray. Vodka leaked from the crystal into the grate, a steam of poison, liquor, soiled blood.

"I want you to see you touch him," Lust said calmly, a spectator. She made excitement sound like melancholy. And it frightened Roy because he had only seen such collected manipulation in himself. "I want to see you put your hands on him."

"I'm not doing anything," he snapped, stealing a glare at her decomposing body. It had rotted even more in just the last few minutes, belly open and raw. Black, blood-soaked organs tumbled out like extra limbs. Ed flinched when he heard Roy speak, and Roy assumed it was because he had done nothing to provoke it and the foul scent of alcohol on his breath must have been intimidating.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Edward is so beautiful when he's angry, Roy's mind said. His cock agreed. This close, he could feel body heat. He could smell his hair. He could see the way nervous blood pulsed in his throat. And despite his declaration that he wouldn't do anything, would not attempt to satiate his hunger, he allowed himself to sweep his thumb across soft, dry lips, allowed himself to tangle his other hand in warm golden hair.

Ed's breath hitched. "Don't-"

Roy heard it, but by the time his brain had decoded the words, his tongue was already cutting them off. He kissed him so deeply that he expected to taste his stomach acid, his tongue a worm, his hand a claw holding Fullmetal's head in a position more readily accessible. And Ed didn't fight it, was resigned to it, let it happen, because honestly there was really nothing he could do.

Roy heard ringing in his ears, like a heartbeat. Like waking up from a nightmare. Press closer. It's not real.

Roy pulled back, just to see. Disentangling the knots from his fingers. Ed was looking at him, but not at him; past him, really. He opened his mouth to say something. Closed it. When he finally looked at him, his eyes were much softer than anything Roy could compare them to. Like clouds golden from the sunrise. The sound of his panting breaths was like the rustle of far-off trees.

"That was just lovely," Lust snickered. Limbs creaking in the silence. "You animal. You monster. You should have seen it, what you were doing, grinding like a dog on its mount. Look at what you've done. He thinks the world of you, trusts you to shield him when things go wrong, and now you've mauled him like a bitch in heat."

"I have to go," Ed stuttered, quietly. The quietest Roy had ever heard him say anything.

Like he was afraid. That made Roy's stomach turn nauseously; Ed knew he wasn't forcing him to do this, right? Ed knew he could leave whenever he wanted, right? Roy wasn't that kind of person, not a pervert who snatched kids up and used them like condoms or cigarettes or fuel. Despite whatever sick mind-fuckery the homunculus was playing at, he would never, ever stoop so low as to hurt Fullmetal.

"Ed, I'm not gonna..."

"No!" Ed shoved him away, hard, throwing all of his strength into it. The colonel stumbled back, and then caught a whiff of sweet hair as Ed darted past him, making an escape, running because that's what he would rather do than fight. Somehow, this was too much for the alchemist. This was overloading his system. And he needed out.

Ed kept his hand on the knob, briefly, panting and shaking. "Don't you ever fucking touch me again," he said. Tears didn't fall because Elrics never cried. "I won't tell anyone. Because I know they'd fire you. But if you touch me again, I'll kill you." He slammed the door on the way out, causing the floorboards to tremble and the door to moan on its hinges. If anyone asked about the mussed hair and the swollen lips he would deny it.

Roy leaned up against the wall, forehead against the cool plaster. He closed his eyes and let the fire scald him. Hellfire was the price of his transgressions. Hellfire was the toll for the feel of silk against his skin and virgin sweat against his tongue. Running his hands along the boundaries. He was not ordinarily a sick man. This was just a combination of the summer heat, Lust's presence, and the boy's latent attractiveness.

It had always been there, and he had always seen it for what it was. But he had never felt anything quite like this maddening soul-scorching. His throat had never run dry when Edward combed blond hair with his fingers, his heart had never beat a slow pace if Ed accidentally stumbled against him through clumsy impatience. But now those things were happening, and he couldn't restrain himself.

He could smell the smoke of his sin, his flesh boiling in hell. One touch and he had damned himself. Edward would tell, because it was the right thing to do, and now he, Roy Mustang, would have no choice but to face the consequences. If he didn't tell someone in power, he would tell his brother, and neither of them would trust him the same way again. Ed would no longer be coming here alone.

"Silly man," Lust said, not quite through tormenting him yet. He couldn't command her to leave. He couldn't get a priest to command her to leave. He had tried burning her, though that had done nothing but set a quick fire to his bedroom. The flames touched her blackened, crispy flesh and didn't roar. "Fullmetal isn't one to just leap into anyone's arms."

Roy looked at her angrily, teeth bared in a painful grimace.

"He needs real love, affection. He needs to know you'll satisfy him in ways others couldn't. Think," the burned woman whispered in his ear, suddenly materializing at his side. He could feel the dead, dry flesh of her lips, a flash of tongue, decaying breath. He shuddered as she pressed against him. "What does he want more than anything in the world?"

Roy seriously considered that question. At first, the answer was quick on his tongue. What Edward wanted more than anything was for his brother to be restored to a real body. But then he quieted himself. Thought of Edward in his head. Gleaming steal arm and leg. Fiery eyes that were molten pits of anger, sorrow, and yes, fear.

"He wants to know he's wanted," Roy found himself saying.

"He wants a man," Lust continued, smirking. "He wants to be controlled. He wants to be subdued. He wants to be told no. In short, Mustang, he needs you."

He broke away from her, pushing away the ashen corpse. Pieces of her fell off and then disappeared where they'd landed. "I molested him." The words were bitter poison in his mouth.

"He's not as innocent as you think he is, Roy," she purred his name, laying down across his desk. Papers flew about her burnt hair. "He thinks about you. He thinks about all kinds of things. In the dark. When there's no one around to hear him breathing so very hard."

Roy froze, cold sweat breaking out on his skin. Paper moonlight, the scent of oil and cotton blankets, Edward trying to keep himself quiet as he moaned and squirmed. Roy imagined jerking hips and slightly damp hair and half-lidded, golden eyes dripping tears of ecstasy. He imagined his own name spilling from those lips in a moment of convulsion, of chaos. And then Ed would just lie there, blood coloring his cheeks as he caught his breath.

"He rejected you today because he feels he's doing something wrong," Lust continued, smiling as if she could read his thoughts. She let her head fall back, neck exposed and hair hanging down. A mockery of seduction. Necrophilia. "He feels dirty. Knowing he should be thinking of you as anything but a lover."

"That's a lie," he spat.

"Even if it was, it feels good to think about, doesn't it?" she said knowingly. It did. His crotch wanted friction, any friction, and it wanted it now.

Edward had left his coat on the rack. He walked towards it, the red cloth suddenly warm and soft beneath his fingertips. What would Ed look like wearing nothing but this? Draped in nothing but the seductive color of crimson. Gold and red. He held it close to his face, the scent sweet and hot and unholy. He moaned against the cloth, body sliding against the wall in utter submission. He felt his eyes grow heavy like he wanted sleep. But sleep was not what he desired.

"He trusts you," Lust said, appearing beside his ear. Her tongue beneath the lobe. Lick. "He would do anything if you promised him something good would come of it. That's something to think about, isn't it, colonel?"

Would he? Would he really do anything? Roy thought about that. Would Ed go down on his knees for him? Would he use that filthy mouth of his? Sweep his tongue and tease him until he couldn't take it anymore? Or would he bend over, give everything he had, let his superior fuck him nice and rough?

He rubbed his groin against Ed's jacket, in his hand, somehow reveling in the sparks it sent up and down his spine. Touching himself with something so intimately part of Edward's being was like oxygen. Almost as good as having the real thing.

"Shut up," he said, but unbuckled his pants anyway.

When the red cotton touched his bare dick, it twitched in response, attuned to Ed. He could smell him. Leather and oil and sweet youth; laundry soap that could not cover up Ed's scent. He rubbed himself through the jacket, his dick stiffening up without any thought to stimulate it. The fire in the grate grew. Shadows on sweat.

He remembered the taste of Ed's lips. Sweet, warm, wet, young. He was fresh. He was practically walking sex, strutting temptation, glorious in his ignorance. Edward had no idea the power he had - no idea that men and women would give anything to see him crawl for them. To have him, all of him, and the permission to do unspeakable things to his body.

This in itself was unspeakable. His dick was slick and hot, pulsing as he rubbed it slow. The cotton felt so damn good, so soft, and Roy closed his eyes, pretending that it was Ed he was thrusting into, Ed he was touching. He spread his hand flat beneath the cloth and just rode it, panting breaths escaping his throat.

He felt hands on his shoulders. He stiffened up as he realized it was Lust, her burned features, her sick grin. "The fuck?"

"Keep your eyes closed," she said. "Pretend I'm him. Pretend I'm Fullmetal."

He obeyed - possibly because of how turned on he was, possibly because he was a sick bastard - and let her take his jacket, let her rub his groin. He thought about Ed. He thought about his tight little ass and the way he moaned in his sleep. The way he'd blush and play coy if Roy could ever dream of seducing him. The way he might scream an orgasm.

"Keep going," he panted, groaning. She was on her knees. He didn't care. Didn't mind when he felt dry lips take his dick, didn't mind the slick wet of a hot tongue. There was something dirty about pretending it was Ed between his legs, something truly satisfying about that blond head bobbing as a tongue lapped at his head. He would twist his fingers in Ed's hair, use it like reins to steer his dick further in.

He'd like it if he choked, gagged, would like it if his throat tightened up. Eyes clenching in fear. How humbling.

In his vision, Ed looked up at him, golden stare penetrating, deep, as the blond licked a slow circle around the head of his cock. Roy came hard, breathing heavily, waves of euphoria beating his muscles into a wonderful kind of bruising. And the gates of hell closed. No, he would not touch him again; he didn't need to. He would burn his lust again and again until it was spent, like logs in the grate.

Lies were wonderful things.


End file.
